Searching
by Lyndsey Rose
Summary: Ethan Craft has changed since his eighth grade days, and his befriending of Lizzie is causing her to make some dramatic changes in her life. Christian content.
1. Prologue

Prologue  
  
It had taken Lizzie six months to finally embrace the fact that he was gone from this earth, dead. Now, as she walked down the dark, cold hallway of her high school, tears pricked her eyes at the thought of him. Fingering the tiny gold cross around her neck, her mind flooded with sweet reminiscence of him. His gentle voice. His warm eyes. His bright smile. His total nature and being. Could it be that she'd loved him? Yes, she thought, at least for a moment she had found true love in him. But he was gone now. And she was here.  
  
What had prompted such a "good girl" to break into the school after hours? An unacquainted on-looker may have suspected insanity. However, she knew the reason. Her heart was aching, she missed him so badly. She had to take action, or she'd die from the misery. She took a shaky breath and drew a crumpled yellow post-it note from her pocket. The note, splattered with her tears, read his locker number: 356.  
  
She found his locker. Of course she'd found his locker, she knew it by heart. She'd visited it millions of times, but this time was different. He wasn't there. Underneath the locker number was his locker combination, etched in scraggly handwriting. The final number was smudged from her tears. She dropped to her knees and fiddled with the lock for a minute. It wouldn't budge. Her hand shaking with anticipation, she tried again, this time inserting a different final number. The locker wouldn't open. She let out a cry of frustration and tried once more. Nothing.  
  
She sank down to the floor, laid her head against the cool metal locker, and began to sob. She was yearning to be with him once more with such an intensity that she felt she might burst She wanted to hold him. Her rational side told her that she couldn't do that now, and she never would be able to. But she, in all her fervor, believed with all her heart that being in the presence of his belongings just might bring him back to life. And with that thought, she was determined to get the locker open. She wiped her tears with her rough jean jacket sleeve, got to her knees, and attempted the locker combination one last time. After one more exasperated sob, the locker door sprang open.  
  
A shriek of ecstasy escaped her lips. Excitedly, she threw the locker door open the full way and then.... hesitated. Was she ready to go through with this? To think about the one thing that had been causing her so much pain for these last torturous months? After all the visits to the guidance counselor and the therapist? After all the forgetting she had tried to do in the past six months? No, she wasn't ready. But, deep down in her heart, she knew she had to do this. For herself.  
  
With sad, moist eyes, she peered into the locker. And, at looking into his locker, she felt as if she was looking into his heart. His pictures, his posters of favorite bands, his own personal belongings. Gulping back the pain, she let her eyes run over all his possessions, taking in each and every last detail. His schoolbooks, his jacket, even his lunch were all sitting in the same position they'd been left in on that fatal day. No one had come to clean out his locker, it hurt too much. Gingerly, she pulled his old, beat up jacket off the hook. She held the jacket close to her and took in his scent, still present on the jacket. The scent of his cologne intermingled with his house triggered so many memories in her brain. For a second she almost smiled.  
  
Her heart felt a pang. Oh, how she missed him! Her eyes came to a picture of the two of them, beaming from ear to ear, putting bunny ears on each others' heads. She couldn't endure this painful process of remembering any longer. Grief caused her knees to buckle beneath her. Lying on the freezing linoleum tiled floor, she buried her face into his jacket--the last shred of him she had left to cling to-and began to weep, alone in the darkness. 


	2. Chapter One

[A/N: Hello there, everyone! To those of you who read and reviewed the first chapter, my thanks and prayers go out to you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You don't know how much your support makes an impact on my writing!  
  
Well, here is the next installment. I'm sorry it took so long. :Blush: I'm always getting caught up in school work or a play that I'm in and such, so I decided to use my Spring Break to get the ball rolling on this chapter. This chapter, as well as the rest of the story from here on out, is set a year or so before the Prologue. So, hopefully you will like it! :Crosses fingers: Enjoy!]  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Could this day get any worse? That was the question Lizzie asked herself as she scrambled to her locker and raced to open it. She was late to art again, and Miss Douglass was sure to bust her after being tardy several days in a row. Quickly, she gathered her sketchpad, a few loose pencils, and her portfolio from the depths of her locker and threw them into her canvas bag.  
  
As she hurried up the steps to the second floor art lab, her mind ran over the disastrous happenings of the day. The morning started off with a bang when her mother borrowed the top she was planning on wearing to school today. After much bickering, Lizzie reluctantly chose another top that "so totally did not match" (Lizzie's words, of course) her pants. She hadn't made it to first period yet before another disaster occurred. Kate, after spotting Lizzie's "uncoordinated excuse for an outfit" (Kate's words, of course) threw a few unnecessary comments Lizzie's way. To say the least, Lizzie was steamed. Not even consoling words from her friends cold calm Lizzie's fury. Come third period, Lizzie heard the whole school buzzing about Kate's comments. People were talking about Lizzie and her "fashion disaster" in hushed whispers everywhere, it seemed. Even as she received a failing score on the English essay she'd slaved hours over, Lizzie sensed people gossiping behind her back. At lunch, she was so upset, she didn't even bother eating. Instead, she headed straight to the ladies' room, hid in the very last stall, and cried the whole period. Why did people have to be so cruel? she wondered. Didn't anyone at her school have at least an ounce of compassion in them?  
  
Ding, ding! Lizzie's thoughts were interrupted by the bell. "Oh, shoot, I'm late!" Lizzie cried to no one in particular as she ran up the remaining set of stairs. In her panic, she felt her canvas bag slip from her grip and the contents went sprawling down the stairs. Choking back tears of frustration, Lizzie frantically rounded up all her belongings. Why me? she asked herself for the umpteenth time that day. After a few minutes, she'd finally gathered the contents of her bag and scurried off again, sprinting down the hall and into the art lab.  
  
Cheeks flushed and panting, Lizzie slipped into the art lab as quietly as she could, as not to attract any attention. Unfortunately, she could feel all eyes peering at her as she walked past, feeling self- conscious and averting her eyes to the ground. Miranda shot her a sympathetic glance as Lizzie slid into the seat beside her, clutching her canvas bag.  
  
"Lizzie, as I was telling the class before you so kindly graced us with your presence," Miss Douglass said, her harsh voice ringing through the cold classroom. Lizzie's classmates snickered, and she felt a deep red blush creep over her face.  
  
Miss Douglass continued, "This semester, a large percentage of your grade-- I forget how much exactly-- will come from a group project. Sure, you will do small assignments in class that will make up a small portion of your grade, but this big project is to be done outside of class in your free time."  
  
"What free time?" Miranda grumbled satirically under her breath, which produced a small giggle from Lizzie.  
  
"Ms. McGuire, I'd suggest you listen to this. I'm delivering this speech especially for you," Miss Douglass snapped, her sharp eyes drilling into Lizzie's skin. Lizzie's eyes brimmed with tears. She was having such a terrible day, and what now? She had to deal with these Satan-like teachers? She gulped back tears and tried to focus on what Miss Douglass was saying.  
  
"I will, however, give you some time to discuss the project in class with your partner tomorrow when I officially assign and explain the project. " Miss Douglass turned to Lizzie, a fiend-like smile plastered on her thin lips. "Lizzie, I have already let the class choose partners. But since you were late, I have paired you with...." Miss Douglass checked her notes.  
  
Lizzie said a silent prayer. Oh, God, if there even IS a God, I am having the worst day. WHY DID YOU HAVE TO LET THIS HAPPEN TO ME? You're the one who controls the universe, why couldn't you have dumped a day like this on some jerk like Kate? WHY ME? I've never done anything to you! If you're supposed to be so just, so loving, prove it and get me a good partner!  
  
".... Ethan Craft, who is absent today," Miss Douglass finished.  
  
Lizzie's heart skipped a beat. Ethan Craft? Ethan Craft?! So there IS a God!  
  
***  
  
As soon as Lizzie got home from school, she took a long, hot shower and washed away all the terrible memories of the day. Miranda and Gordo were supposed to stop at Amy Joy after school with her to get doughnuts and talk, but they had to cancel at the last moment. Miranda had mandatory choir practice, and Gordo's family took a trip to the hospital to visit his sick aunt. Lost in thought, Lizzie reluctantly stepped out of the steamy shower and wrapped herself in a fluffy blue towel. In a way, she was glad her friends had cancelled on her. All she wanted to do after the terrible day was curl up in bed and forget about the past day's events. After drying off and putting on her soft terry cloth robe, Lizzie dove into bed, covered herself in her heavy purple comforter, and slipped on her headphones.  
  
In a way, she was a tad bit jealous of Gordo and Miranda. Both had friends outside of school--Miranda's from various band camps and choirs, Gordo's from the synagogue--and led active lives. In essence, Lizzie's life WAS Miranda and Gordo. She recalled this past summer. Lizzie spent her first month of summer vacation around the house, bored out of her mind while Miranda and Gordo were off at camp or on vacation, having the time of their lives. That month, she had felt this miserable, lonely feeling in the pit of her stomach Although she couldn't put her finger on the exact emotion she was experiencing, the feeling had left her empty and yearning for.... She didn't know. But, speak of the devil! It seemed that same stomach feeling was seizing hold of her again.  
  
Grabbing the latest issue of Seventeen magazine off the floor, Lizzie began to flip through it to distract herself from that horrible "pit feeling", as she called it. After a few minutes of pretending to read the magazine, she couldn't shake that hollow gnawing in the pit of her stomach.  
  
She glanced down at the magazine. A beautiful, skinny girl with highlighted hair, perfect white teeth, and a bare belly graced the cover, surrounded in headlines such as "Dress Like the Celebs!", "How to Get That Guy!", and "Are You Sexy? Take our quiz!" Lizzie scowled. All those things had been so important to her yesterday. Why weren't they today? The answer hit Lizzie like a tidal wave.  
  
They were the cause of the lonely "pit feeling"! Hair, make-up, clothing, fantasies about boys, and pop culture in general: they gave her life exactly zero meaning. Whenever Lizzie's friends ditched her, she ran with open arms to material possessions, only to find they left her feeling worse than before. The magazine had promised her a perfect life in those things. 'Well, it lied,' Lizzie thought dejectedly. Her life, though appearing perfect on the surface, was anything but. A single tear rolled down Lizzie's cheek. Lizzie wanted a change in her life; she wanted to find true happiness. 'I want more out of life than sitting at home depressed with endless copies of Seventeen!' she thought to herself. 'I'm worth more than that!'  
  
Her life. It lacked fulfillment. It lacked meaning. It lacked something.  
  
***  
  
Jo McGuire sensed something was wrong with Lizzie the second she got home from school that afternoon. Lizzie didn't stop in the kitchen for her usual glass of juice and granola bar, but instead headed silently to her room, only leaving the comfort of its four walls to take a steamy, hour- long shower. As Jo's mother always said when Jo was a girl, "The longer the shower, the bigger the problem".  
  
So, it didn't come as a surprise to Jo when Lizzie refused to talk at all at dinner An awkward silence hung in the air as Lizzie pushed the food around on her plate with an absent look on her face. Even the insulting remarks thrown at Lizzie from Matt's end of the table couldn't provoke Lizzie to a response.  
  
"Mom?" Lizzie suddenly spoke in a small voice.  
  
"Yes, honey?" Mrs. McGuire returned with eager eyes. Was Lizzie was ready to talk about whatever was gnawing at her?  
  
"May I be excused?"  
  
Mrs. McGuire's face fell. "Oh, honey...Why don't you finish up your—"  
  
Ding dong! Jo's sentence was interrupted by the doorbell.  
  
"I'll get it!" Matt cried jumping from his seat, anxious to escape his family's uncomfortable state of silence (not to mention his mother's tuna casserole).  
  
"No, you sit down and eat your dinner," Jo commanded her son. "I'll get it."  
  
"I wonder who that could be at dinnertime?" Mr. McGuire wondered aloud, speaking for the first time throughout the course of the meal. No one responded to Sam McGuire's comment, and in a way, no one cared. Financial upkeep and unpaid bills were running through Sam's unhappy mind, while Lizzie's brain kept replaying the events of the past school day. Even Matt's mind was occupied with strategies for outsmarting Lanny in "Space Hillbillies", a new favorite video game of theirs. Lizzie, however, looked the most pathetic of the group, slumped over her mashed potatoes and forehead creased in deep thought. Exhaustion played about her face, pulling her eyelids over her tired hazel eyes.  
  
When Mrs. McGuire stepped back into the room, she would have laughed at the sorry state of her family and their failure to hold a decent conversation without her. Rather, she announced, "Lizzie, someone's here to see you."  
  
Lizzie, looking up from her plate with a puzzled expression on her face, got up from her seat and walked into the foyer. There, Gordo was waiting for her with a huge box of Amy Joy doughnuts in his hands and a small smile on his face.  
  
"Hi," he said.  
  
"Hi," she said.  
  
A small silence followed, and then both spoke at once.  
  
"I just stopped—"  
  
"What are you doing--?"  
  
They laughed.  
  
"You first," Lizzie said, a tiny smile playing at the edges of her mouth.  
  
"Well," Gordo said, looking into Lizzie's eyes meaningfully. "I know you kind of had a rough time at school today, and I really wish we could have talked about it today at Amy Joy ...So here." He placed the warm box in her arms and the scent of melted chocolate mingled with Gordo's spicy colon overtook her senses. "If you wanna talk about it, I'm all ears."  
  
Lizzie wanted to laugh at Gordo's cliché use of words, but instead, tears pricked at her eyes. These tears, much unlike the ones Lizzie cried earlier today, were tears of joy. Shooting Gordo a watery smile, Lizzie set the box down and enveloped Gordo in a warm hug, burying her face into his broad shoulder. Enveloped in the comfort of his arms, she felt a shiver run through her. She felt loved for the first time that day. She didn't tell him how much this meant to her, knowing that someone cared enough about her to comfort her in her darkest hours—it was already said. 


	3. Chapter Two

[A/N: Hey there, everyone! Here is the second chapter of "Searching". Let me tell you, as I wrote this chapter, I had some "searching" of my own to do. God and I have had such a hard struggle in these past months, but I'm just beginning to patch the holes I tore in our relationship.  
  
Hopefully this chappie won't cause any controversy out there in Christian Land. If you have any comments, suggestions, or just want to get a hold of me—feel free to drop me an email! I LOVE getting email! Again, thank you for continuing to support me in my writing efforts. ;) You are all wonderful!]  
  
Lizzie filed silently through the library and set her messenger bag, adorned with an odd assortment of tattered patches and pins, down gently-- as not to make a sound--on a smooth hardwood table. She intended to find Ethan before school began to fill him in about their art project, knowing that if he was in school today, he could be found somewhere within large, cozy library's walls. Lizzie thought back to the time during her American History research paper when she would often come to the library before school to work on it. Ethan and she were the only people in the library before classes began, and the silence of the library before a loud, hectic day in the school's halls was a comfort to her. Lizzie would often sneak peaks out of the corner of her eye to see Ethan sitting a few tables away, forehead creased in concentration, intently studying his books.  
  
Now she began to scan the library for his head of thick brown hair. Finally, she spotted him at a small round table in the corner of the library, poured over his books with such an intense concentration, she was afraid to disturb him. She wove her way silently through the maze of tables and chairs and stood behind Ethan.  
  
Suddenly, her motives for walking up to Ethan changed. Carefully placing her manicured hands over Ethan's eyes, she whispered, "Guess who," in a deep, throaty voice.  
  
Ethan's strong, tan hands gripped her small, delicate ones and caressed them for a moment. Then he pulled them away from his face and swiveled around in his chair in one quick movement.  
  
"Lizzie," he breathed, his voice gruff and husky. He slowly rose from his chair, his eyes running hungrily over Lizzie's body, taking in every single detail, every single curve. Another swift movement and she was in his arms, kissing him passionately, over and over and over and....  
  
"Ethan," she murmured helplessly as his mouth ran down her neck. "It's not right..."  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzie watched the pudgy brunette librarian scramble over to their table. Lizzie braced herself for a chastising about their "little" Public Display of Affection, but instead the librarian did something unexpected. "What's not right, Lizzie? Are you okay? Lizzie?", the panicked librarian questioned her in a concerned tone. When no response came from Lizzie, the librarian gave her a violent shake.  
  
At that, the library seemed to shatter into a million pieces, pulling the licentious Ethan away along with it. Lizzie found herself in her warm bed, Mrs. McGuire hovering over her with a worried crease drawn through her brow.  
  
"Honey," Mrs. McGuire said in a soft voice. "What's wrong? You were rolling all over this bed with such a scared look on your face, I was worried about you. Did you have a nightmare?"  
  
Groggily, Lizzie sat up. "I...I guess you could say that." She smiled at her mother. "Thanks for waking me out of it."  
  
"Anytime," said Mrs. McGuire, returning the smile. She patted Lizzie's leg and left her seat at Lizzie's side. "It's what I'm here for," she called over her shoulder before exiting Lizzie's bedroom.  
  
Lizzie swung her legs out of the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. She couldn't believe the dream she'd waken up to. Of course she'd had dreams about Ethan before, but nothing so vivid, or so... dirty. That was how Lizzie felt after having this dream—just dirty. Running a brush through her tangled mat of hair, she recalled how clear the dream was, it was almost as if it was real! She and Ethan hadn't done anything wrong, Lizzie reassured herself, raking the hairbrush through her blond tangled mess; and yet, she couldn't shake that guilty feeling that she HAD committed a major sin. Sinking to the floor, she offered up another thought to the God that everyone had said to be out there.  
  
"Uhm... God? If you're here, I just want you to know that... that I really feel guilty about having that dream. I never wanted to have it; really, I had no control over it. So...I'm sor—"  
  
"LIZZIE!" Matt screeched from the opposite side of the bathroom door. "YOU'VE BEEN IN THERE FOR TWENTY MINUTES! IT'S MY TURN!"  
  
Lizzie lifted herself off the floor and yelled back for Matt to go away and give her ten more minutes. She heard Matt mumble something that sounded like an agreement and head away from the bathroom. Lizzie looked at her reflection in the mirror, sighed, and continued to tackle her hair with the brush.

------

"You did WHAT with Ethan?!" Miranda exclaimed.  
  
A beet faced Lizzie had just finished explaining her "Ethan Dream", as she now called it, to Miranda and Gordo as the trio headed down the sidewalk to school. Usually they took the bus, but Miranda had insisted that because of the beautiful weather, they should walk to school. Lizzie agreed passionately, for Ethan rode the same bus, and there was no way she could face him just an hour after the dream she'd had! She still felt a little bit guilty, but the talk she'd had with God (If you could call it "a talk".) had calmed her down a bit.  
  
Now she was regretting that she'd told her best friends about the dream. They'd seemed to take an immediate interest in the subject the second she brought up a dream about Ethan and the guilty feeling that went along with it, so she was forced to tell them the rest of the story.  
  
"Miranda, I didn't _do_ anything, except dream about him," Lizzie said, defensively.  
  
"A dream is a wish you're heart makes..." Gordo sang in a high falsetto voice, sounding much like a Disney movie. A smirk snuck across his face, twisting the corners of his mouth into a self-satisfied grin. Miranda gave him a small shove off the sidewalk, at which Gordo exclaimed a surprised "Hey!"  
  
"I don't know why, but I feel so... so filthy after having that dream. It's not like Ethan and I did anything BAD, but the dream was so real," Lizzie said, a confused look adorning her face.  
  
"Lizzie," Miranda responded, searching right words to console her friend. "I'm sure plenty of girls dream of doing worse things with Ethan—like Kate. You shouldn't feel guilty; it's not like the dream was real."  
  
"Yeah, but it might as well have been," Gordo put in, the same smirk spreading across his face. They were nearing the school building as of now. "Dreams are wild fantasies of ours. They will never EVER happen in the mere daylight, so we dream about them in our sleep to get them out of our systems."  
  
"You know what, Gordo?" Lizzie spoke, her voice rising, pierced with hints of embarrassment and agitation. "You've been totally trashing me ever since I started talking about this dream! What is with you?"  
  
"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted to hear about your stupid girlish fantasies?" Gordo retorted, his voice growing to match Lizzie's.  
  
"Then why did you act so interested?!"  
  
"Why did you even bring it up in the first place?!"  
  
"Because I wanted to get it off my chest," Lizzie said, her voice recoiling to a whisper. "I thought that my two best friends would help me to feel better about this terrible mood I've been having all morning." Her sad eyes met Gordo's guilty ones. "I guess I was wrong."  
  
Casting Gordo one last hurt glance, she slung her arm over Miranda's shoulder and began to walk up the high school's circular drive, leaving Gordo alone in front of the school.

------

Lizzie had waited months for this day. Years possibly. The day she would one day have time alone with Ethan Craft, the most sought after guy in the school. Lizzie had liked Ethan since seventh grade, but now the two were juniors in high school, and things had changed a bit. Yes, Ethan was still the fun loving, cute, and warm fellow who always had a smile for Lizzie whenever he passed her in the hall, but he was different now too. He seemed, to Lizzie at least, much less stuck on himself. Although Ethan took school more seriously now then he did before, he still seemed a little empty headed. Some things just never change, Lizzie thought, with a sigh.  
  
Coming back to reality, she gazed into Ethan's warm brown eyes. Everything about this moment was just as she'd imagined it. With Miranda's help, she had managed to push the dream of Ethan onto the backburner for when she had some more time to think about it. Miranda had promised her that they would go to Amy Joy right after school to sort things out. The fact that Gordo wouldn't be there disheartened Lizzie a bit, but she quickly cast that thought aside. She was sitting right across from Ethan Craft—she needed to focus all of her attention on the subject at hand! Taking in a deep breath, Lizzie vowed to never forget this moment as long as she lived.  
  
The way Ethan looked at Lizzie from across the table made her just want to melt. She couldn't believe she was here, in the art lab, sitting a few feet from him. It was almost as if fate had dropped Ethan right into her lap. "This is a pretty cool project, Lizzie," Ethan said, smiling warmly at her.  
  
The project, which Mrs. Douglass had just finished explaining, was to paint a scene from a favorite book onto a giant canvas. Included in the assignment, was to prepare an oral presentation describing the painting and a reading aloud of the excerpt of the book that corresponded to the painting.  
  
"Do you have any ideas about what book you want to do?" Ethan asked Lizzie, his kind brown eyes looking directly into hers.  
  
"Well," Lizzie said, shifting uncomfortably in her cold, metal chair and looking down at her hands. "I-I don't know." She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. He was just so good looking!  
  
Lizzie had noticed from careful observance of Ethan in the halls that, whenever Ethan held a conversation, he focused all his attention--with both body and mind--on that person. He was doing it again, acting as if they were the only two people in the room. And not in a lusty, romantic way (as in her dream), Lizzie realized, but in a friendly manner. She felt very special; no one had ever paid her this kind of attention before.  
  
"You don't know?" Ethan asked, furrowing his brow in a concerned manner that Lizzie thought was just charming. "Haven't you read any good books recently?"  
  
"Um," said Lizzie, trying to push away her discomfort. "I just finished The Princess Diaries, but..." She laughed nervously. "I don't really think you'd want to do that."  
  
Ethan's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Not really," he said, grinning. At seeing that bright smile illuminate his face, Lizzie smiled too and actually began to relax.  
  
"So, what's your favorite book?" asked Lizzie, not knowing what answer to expect.  
  
"Well, I have a lot of favorite books," Ethan replied, scratching his head.  
  
"Really? I didn't know you liked to read!"  
  
"Yep!" he said, enthusiastically. "My favorite book, though, would have to be... The Bible."  
  
Lizzie stared at Ethan for a second in disbelief. "The Bible," she repeated, shocked. He's got to be kidding, Lizzie reasoned. Only dorky, deeply religious people read The Bible. And Ethan definitely did not match that description.  
  
Slowly, her face grew into a grin. "Good one, Ethan! You had me there for a second."  
  
Ethan looked at her with an even stare. "Lizzie, I'm serious. The Bible really is my favorite book."  
  
"Oh...wow, Ethan," Lizzie said. "I-I didn't mean to offend you! You just don't seem to be the type—"  
  
"Type of what?" Ethan asked, cutting her off. "The type of person to read The Bible?" He thought for a moment, and then broke into a broad smile. "Yeah, I guess not." 


	4. Chapter Three

A/N: _Hi, my lovely readers-and-reviewers. How are you doing today? ::Sigh:: I honestly have no idea how I'm feeling. My Grampaw just died this week, and things have just been hectic. Alas, whenever I'm feeling depressed, I usually write, and Chapter 3 was birthed from it. This isn't a depressing chapter, though, so don't be alarmed! I'd just like to dedicate this to Robert H...the best man I knew to walk the face of this Earth (After Christ Jesus, of course). _

_God is good all the time, and all the time, God is good! _

Chapter 3

Hands clasping two steaming hot Styrofoam cups filled to the brim with coffee, Lizzie led the way to a small booth inside the local Amy Joy. Miranda followed, carrying a small, flimsy box of chocolate covered sprinkle doughnuts. Miranda slid into the booth, and Lizzie did the same opposite her, slightly tipping the cups away from her body and splashing a spot of coffee on the sticky table's surface.

"So tell me how it was, girl! I can't wait a second longer!" Miranda burst out, big brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. Lizzie's lips expanded to reveal a horribly cheesy, gum-bearing, goofy faced grin and a high-pitched giggle to boot. She'd been avoiding Miranda's question about working with Ethan Craft on the project all throughout the day, afraid that she might act like a bumbling, lovesick fool in front of her classmates. Now in the comfort of the empty Amy Joy building, she wasn't afraid to behave like the excited, slightly infatuated teenager that she was.

"Oh gosh, Miranda!" Lizzie gasped, dumping several packets of sugar into her coffee. "He is SOOO adorable, and so gentlemanly—you wouldn't believe it. Do you want to know what he SAID to me?!"

"What?" Miranda returned, feasting off of Lizzie's contagious high spirits.

"He said..." Lizzie paused, hoping to build suspense on Miranda's receiving end of the story. "He said, right before the bell rang, that he is 'so glad that we're working together on this project'."

The pair squealed in unison, causing a rather confused cashier to turn his head in the direction of the girls. But they paid him no mind. "What else did he say? What did you guys talk about?" Miranda questioned, eager to drink in all the details she possibly could.

Lizzie bit off a hunk of a doughnut slathered in gooey chocolate while thinking over the conversation carefully in her mind. "Well, we talked about our favorite books and—get this, Miranda. Ethan reads the Bible! Isn't that insane? Even my parents don't read the Bible!"

"Yeah, that's funny. I mean, he just doesn't seem like the 'religious' type."

"That's what I said to him! At first, I thought he was just joking about the 'Bible thing', but he's actually really into this religious stuff."

Miranda took a swig of coffee and fiddled with the fringe of a nearby napkin. "So think you'll end up doing the Bible then?"

Lizzie paused to think for a moment. "That seems to be the case. I really don't care. I mean—come on, Miranda—I'm working with Ethan Craft! We could paint a scene from 'The Cat In the Hat' for all I care!"

Miranda laughed. "So he wasn't anything like your dream then?"

"Not even close," Lizzie said, twisting a lock of her blonde hair absentmindedly around her finger. "He was so...chaste. Like, he actually cared more the size of my brain than the size of my bra."

Miranda's deep chocolate-colored eyes widened, impressed. "A rare find among the sixteen-year-old male population."

"Yeah," Lizzie remarked. "It's funny--the only other decent guy I know our age is Gord..."

Lizzie felt her face fall. The pair of friends sipped their coffee in silence for what seemed like minutes. Slowly, Lizzie lowered the cup from her lips and cleared her throat. "I THOUGHT Gordo was the only other decent guy I knew," she corrected herself angrily. "But, of course, he had to prove THAT theory wrong with his smart mouth."

"He was such a jerk to you this morning. I wonder what got into him," Miranda pondered aloud.

"I have no idea, but—oh gosh, Miranda. It's five o' clock already; I have to get home and start dinner."

"Alright," Miranda sighed reluctantly. "Is your mom working late again?"

Lizzie nodded. Ever since her mother had started volunteering at the local homeless shelter, she'd been spending more time with the homeless than with her own family. In a way, it was a relief in Lizzie's eyes to have her mom off her back, and yet, she couldn't help but feel that her mother was becoming a stranger to her.

Most nights Jo worked at the homeless shelter, leaving Sam, Matt, and Lizzie to feast on a microwavable dinner in front of the TV. As much as she hated to admit it, Lizzie missed the many dinners she'd spent talking (or bickering) with her family around the circular table in their kitchen.

Releasing a small groan, Lizzie stood up from the tacky orange bench, inching her way out of the booth. "I wish I could get MY mom off my back for once," Miranda offered, gathering the empty Styrofoam cups and paper napkins in her hands before tossing them in the trash.

"I used to wish the same thing," Lizzie began, slinging her beaded denim purse over her shoulder. "I guess you don't really appreciate what you have until it's gone."

-------

She fiddled with the lock-and-key for a minute before pausing to look up at the house in confusion. "WHAT is that noise coming from inside?!" Lizzie questioned in a tone both angry and bemused. When left unsupervised, Sam and Matt McGuire could be a handful. The sound coming from the house was a loud rumble intermixed with her mother's favorite Polka tunes. Jamming the key into the lock, Lizzie gave the door a good heave-ho and opened it to find herself face-to-face with her dad in the arms of Matt. Or at least whom she _thought_ was her dad.

Lizzie burst out laughing. Mr. McGuire, dressed in a flowery purple blouse and skirt, complete with pumps, hat, and matching jewelry, looked as guilty as a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar just minutes before dinnertime. Matt, who'd had his back to Lizzie, asked, "Dad, why did you stop dancing?"

Lizzie's laughter turned to wild hysteria as a blush slowly crept over Matt's face in realization that his ballroom dancing escapade had been discovered. "WHAT," Lizzie gasped, "are you two DOING?!" Her father shuffled over to the stereo and lowered the volume, while Matt's embarrassment transmuted to anger.

"Where do you get off interrupting—"The 13-year-old started ranting before Mr. McGuire put a callused, worn hand over his mouth.

"Matt's going to his first dance tomorrow night." Sam explained in a tired voice. "I'm teaching him to dance." Now that Lizzie had gotten over the hysteria of seeing her father dressed in woman's clothing, she could see the usual spark was gone from her father's eyes and replaced with immense purple bags. She sympathized with him—now that her mother was gone, her father was trying his hardest to hold together the household.

"Dad, why don't you go upstairs and take a shower or nap or something? I think I can handle it from here," Lizzie offered. Her father nodded weakly and trudged up the stairs, head down. Lizzie then turned to Matt. "I don't think Dad was teaching you very well anyway." She stepped to the speaker grabbed a stack of disks before thrusting them at Matt. "Find something like what they'd play at your eighth grade dance while I start dinner," Lizzie commanded him.

Matt nodded, a serious, almost grave expression carved into his face. He was determined to learn how to dance, it seemed. Lizzie slipped off her coat and set down her purse as she headed into the kitchen. A yellow Post-It on the counter confirmed that there was macaroni casserole in the fridge waiting for her to stick in the oven and heat up. As Lizzie preheated the oven, she heard Matt insert a disk in the CD player and begin playing it. Tiptoeing to the doorway separating the kitchen and living room, she peaked in on Matt, who was experimenting with dance moves. She felt sorry for the kid, whose unsuccessful boogie around the coffee table reminded her of something out of the Charlie Brown Christmas Special. Suppressing giggles, Lizzie crept back into the kitchen, where she noticed the family's answering machine flashing incessantly.

"Hmm, two messages," she murmured. "Probably from mom." She tapped the plastic blue triangle marked 'playback' on the phone and listened patiently as the tape began rolling. Almost as if on queue, Matt discovered the volume control on the speaker and upped it a few notches.

"MATT!" Lizzie shrieked, storming into the adjacent room. "Dad is SLEEPING! Turn that thing DOWN!" Almost immediately, Matt sprung for the stereo and hit the 'off' button on the sound system. Sighing dramatically, Lizzie filed back into the kitchen—Matt close behind her—once again where the first message had just come to a close. She would play that one back at a later time.

"Hey, Lizzie," a familiar voice sounded through the speakers on the telephone. "This is Ethan." Lizzie released another high-pitched squeal, which caused Matt, who was taking a peak into the fridge, to roll his eyes and groan outwardly. "I was just wondering if you wanted to get together sometime and work on that art project. I'm heading up to the library Sunday afternoon, so let me know if you can come. I think you have my phone number, so give me a call. See you."

"Ohmigosh, Ethan, I love you," Lizzie breathed, pulse racing, heart jumping with eagerness. Of course she would go to the library Sunday—how could she not?

Matt stifled a laugh. "Come on, lover girl," he said, grabbing a love-struck Lizzie's hand and dragging her into the living room. "You can pretend I'm Ethan while you're teaching me to dance."

-------

The phone rang Sunday morning at the Sanchez house.

"Miranda, it's for you!" The golden complexioned Miranda, clothed in her Sunday best for church, sauntered into the kitchen. "It's Gordo."

"Thanks, Mom," Miranda said before picking up the receiver. "Hey, Gordo. What's up?"

"Well, I called Lizzie to apologize, just like you said I should," Gordo's voice rang in a solemn tone through the speaker.

"Mmhmm?"

"I left her a pretty lame message on her answering machine—I mean, I would be embarrassed if her parents were to hear it."

Miranda laughed. Gordo could be such a geek sometimes. "What did you say?!"

"I just said that I was sorry for being an insensitive jerk, and that I didn't mean to hurt her," Gordo said passionately. "But anyway, I'm just calling to see if she said anything to you about it because, well, I left the message on Friday night and she still hasn't called me back. I just want to know if she's holding a grudge—that's not like her."

"Actually, Gordo, I haven't talked to her all weekend except for a couple times online. But she didn't really mention you," Miranda said gently, cautious of hurting his feelings.

"Oh, okay," Gordo replied dejectedly. "Well, I know you have to head off to church, and I'm going to head up to the library, so I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks."


	5. Chapter Four

A/N: Thank you so much, everyone, for the reviews! Special thanks goes out to Rilla1989, Suzzy20, Princess of Rivendell, and CrackerjacknPez, because, unlike Amaya and Sarah, you aren't "obligated" to read my work! ::Wink::

All jest aside, I'm SOOOO glad you (seem to be) enjoying the story so far. You don't know how much your support means to me. ::Realizes how sappy she's being…and groans:: Anyway, this chapter is really special to me because I had a wonderful time writing it. So here we go…

Chapter Four

David Gordon smiled slightly to himself as he slid into the upholstered chair opposite his favorite round table. Setting down the stack of five or so hard covered books in his hand, he reminded himself of why this particular table was his favorite thing about the library. The table, surrounded on three sides by tall shelving, was adjacent to a fireplace on its fourth side. Not many people came back to the reference and foreign language books sections, so for the most part, he was alone and at peace.

He cracked open the first book, a biography of the admirable Joe Johnston, who directed many amazing movies such as _October Sky_, _Jumanji_, and _Hidalgo_. For about 30 minutes, he was immersed in the literature, drinking in every sentence—every last detail. The crackle and warmth of the fire was a comfort to him, his soul was curiously calm. That is, until a small giggle erupted in the silence of his beloved quiet spot in the library. Gordo's eyes left the page for a few moments, scanning his surroundings. No one was there.

The moment he got back to his book, another giggle filtered through his eardrums. He repeated the process, and after returning to his book a third time, the high-pitched laugh rang louder, yet again. "Oh wow, that's annoying," he muttered irritably to himself. He rose from his seat and realized the giggle was coming from behind the bookshelf to his left. Peering through the crack between books and shelf, he realized Ethan Craft was sitting at a table on the other side of the shelf.

"Funny to see _Ethan_ at a library," Gordo thought, amused. "But who is _that _with him?" Gordo studied the blond-headed, heavily make-upped creature beside Ethan, and, upon recognizing her, did a double take. "Lizzie?" He'd never seen her like this—she was acting like a… Like a DITZ. Giggling at every one of his jokes ("Which probably weren't even funny!" Gordo reasoned), caking on five pounds of makeup, wearing a wardrobe flashier than anything she'd ever worn. And was that—oh no, it couldn't be. Cleavage.

What had happened to his sweet, innocent Lizzie?!

Gordo could deal with the laughter, and he could deal with the fact that she looked like she belonged at a nightclub instead of at a library. But what made him furious was the fact that they were flirting.

Flirting! And in his very own quiet library space too! He sighed. No boy had ever taken a liking to Lizzie before—but what did he think? That she would always be free, always be _his_? Yes, that was the way things should be! No boy could ever appreciate Lizzie the way he did, no boy knew her like he did. Certainly no boy had the right to her except Gordo!

Gordo's eyes narrowed to two angry slits, and almost immediately, a green fire filled them. Unable to restrain himself, he shouted "Lizzie!" and emerged from his hiding spot behind the shelf.

"Gordo?" Her eyes were wide with surprise.

"Do you guys think you could you keep it down?" His tone was colder than the arctic.

"I'm sorry—"

"Lizzie, you ALWAYS say that." Gordo spoke fervently. "You kill me! 'I'm sorry, Gordo, I won't do it again, I promise. Old, reliable Gordo will understand.' Well, this time I DON'T understand, Lizzie. I JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND."

"What? Gordo, what the HECK is your problem!?" She was enraged, embarrassed, hurt. How could he say this to her? And in front of Ethan, of all people.

He was irate at her ignorance. "WHY DID YOU NEVER RETURN MY CALL?"

Silence. And then, a voice—Ethan's. "Liz? I'm going to go take a look at a couple of the Picasso books. I'll be back whenever you're ready," he said quietly, his head towards the ground. He glanced at Lizzie and Gordo before shooting the pair a small, half-hearted smile and shuffling past them toward the Non-fiction section.

-------

It was twenty minutes since Ethan had left Lizzie and Gordo to work out their problems. "They should be just about done patching things up by now," Ethan reasoned as he hastily pulled a few more books off the shelf and departed from the Arts section. That was what he admired about Lizzie and Gordo's friendship, he thought as made his way back to the table. They were so close, and they'd always managed to work out their problems. Staying close friends throughout the years was difficult for a girl and guy--they could have easily gone their separate ways. Ethan sighed, pushing thoughts of past friendships away as he approached Lizzie's table. Drawing near, he found that Gordo had fled the table, leaving a heart-broken, sobbing Lizzie devastated in her seat.

She looked up at him through watery red eyes and croaked, "I want to go home." He nodded, and without saying a word, began gathering their stuff. Lizzie shivered violently in her scanty outfit, but the library wasn't cold. In a state of shock, she fished for a Kleenex in her purse. Tears smudged her thick makeup across her face. Ethan offered her his red hoodie, and the pair left the library.

They stood awkwardly outside for a few moments. "Hey, do you want a ride home?" Ethan asked, a hint compassion in his voice. She nodded, swatting at tears. They walked to Ethan's red Acura, the car his mom had bought him for his 16th birthday. He opened the door for Lizzie and watched as she belted in. "Thank you," she breathed hoarsely.

"Anytime," he answered with a smile, gazing at her for a moment before closing the door and heading around to the driver's side. They drove in silence for a couple minutes before Lizzie spoke.

"He called me a harlot, Ethan."

"What?"

"Gordo. He called me a prostitute." Pain dripped off her face with the tears, spilling at a rapid pace. "Me.A prostitute."

Ethan was silent, as was Lizzie.


	6. Chatper Five

_A/N: Hey, everyone! My gosh, it's been six months since my last update. Uhg, I am a terrible procrastinator. Anyway, it is my goal to have this story finished by the end of the summer, so we'll see how that goes! ;)_

_Thanks to Rilla1989, Hermione781, and of course, Amaya and Princess of Rivendell (who have been with me since the beginning). I love you guys and appreciate your reviewsso much! And EJK: thanks for your generous review. All will be revealed in due course, don't worry. :P Well, here comes the next chapter. Enjoy!_

Chapter 5 

"You know, Lizzie," Ethan started, as to fill the uncomfortable silence with even more uncomfortable words. "You _don't_ have to dress this way to impress me."

The two had been riding silently along in Ethan's Acura on the way home from a disastrous trip to the library. Lizzie, blotting her eyes with the sleeve of Ethan's red hoodie, had slowly sunk into the cloth seat and was working at choking back tears. Tears of embarrassment, anger, and—for the most part—hurt.

"What?" Lizzie asked in a somewhat shaky voice, startled at Ethan's sudden urge to speak.

"Actually," Ethan went on as if he hadn't heard her question, "I wish you wouldn't dress like that at all." Lizzie looked at him with questioning brown eyes, prodding him for an explanation. "I dunno, Liz. I used to like that kind of stuff before I got into this whole Christianity thing. But now, it's just, I can't…"

"Can't what?"

Ethan fought for words. "Can't be… tempted like that anymore."

"I don't understand," Lizzie said, her naivety shining through her voice.

"Do you…" Ethan paused, as if contemplating his choice of words. "Do you want to come to this thing at Church with me tonight?"

A small smile spread across Lizzie's face. "Can I go home and change first?"

* * *

Matt McGuire and Lanny Onasis raced into the McGuire kitchen adorned with backpacks and baseball caps. They scavenged the cabinets, and, after much searching, "MOM!"

Jo McGuire appeared in the doorway, an amused smirk settled on her lips.

"WHERE'S THE BARBEQUE SAUCE?" Matt asked, a frantic tug on his voice.

"Can I ask you boys _why_ you are in need of my barbeque sauce?"

"No reason. Right Lanny?" Matt's sidekick nodded and grinned. No reason at all.

Jo McGuire sighed. "If I give it to you, do you boys promise me I won't be getting any calls from the neighbors or the police department?"

"You have our word, m'lady," Matt said, before stooping to bow in unison with Lanny. Reluctantly, Mrs. McGuire rummaged through her fridge and tossed the boys the bottle of sauce they so desired. And they were off! Through the front door, knocking Lizzie over on her way in.

Lizzie proved to be just as rushed as her brother and his friend.

"MomcanIgotoyouthgroupwithEthan?"

She raced up the stairs, not waiting for an answer in reply.

Mrs. McGuire followed, a puzzled expression forcing her eyebrows upward. "What's this, honey?" she questioned as Lizzie flung off her clothes in a hasty manner.

Lizzie yanked a pair of loose fitting jeans up her hips. "EthanaskedifIcould—"

"Whoa, whoa there. Slow down." Mrs. McGuire put her hands on Lizzie's shoulders, and forced Lizzie to catch her breath. Buttoning the jeans, Lizzie took a moment to sit on her bed and pull a fuzzy gray turtleneck over her head.

"Ethan Craft wants to know if I can go to youth group with him. He's waiting in his car outside, and we've got about ten minutes until it starts. So can I?"

"Well, of course you can, Sweetie," Mrs. McGuire answered as she tossed her daughter a jean jacket, which Lizzie gratefully slipped on. "But why have you all the sudden taken an interest in church? You never did before…"

"No time to explain!" Lizzie cried as she hopped around, pulling on her already laced sneakers. "Got to run!" She bolted out of her room and down the steps.

"Wait!" Lizzie's mother called after her. "You forgot your—"

SLAM!

"Purse."

Jo McGuire stumbled to her own room and collapsed on the bed. Her children, in the ten minutes that she'd spent with them, were more exhausting than a day working with the city's entire homeless population.

* * *

Ethan led Lizzie down into the musty church basement where youth group was being held. It was a small room, though kind of homely, Lizzie decided, as faces glanced up to welcome the two. A tall, slender, college-aged man with a thick head of red hair and goatee rose from his seat and crossed the room, greeting Ethan with a handshake and smile. The man introduced himself to Lizzie as Tim, the youth minister at the church.

A chorus of "Hey Ethan"s followed Tim's welcome.

"Hey everyone," Ethan responded affably, dragging two folding chairs to the long, rectangular table where the group was seated. "This is Lizzie—you might have seen her around school." Lizzie shifted uncomfortably on her feet and shot the group a nervous smile. "Hi," she responded, taking a seat next to Ethan.

"Alright, it looks as if everyone's here. Let's get started," Tim said, moving to the head of the table and opening a book. Everyone at the table bowed their head, and Lizzie awkwardly mimicked their movement. A wealth of words tumbled out of Tim's mouth, none of which Lizzie paid attention to. They were meant for the other kids here, not her. Instead, she let her eyes covertly wander the room and analyze the other kids there.

Seated next to Tim was Rachel, a quiet girl whose plain face was always hidden from view behind a paperback novel at lunch. She rarely talked to people outside of class and didn't have many friends. In fact, the only reason Lizzie knew of her existence was because Gordo used to talk to her frequently about a book series they'd both been obsessed with last year.

At the far end of the table was Trent, that angry looking kid in Lizzie's seventh period study hall. Piercings adorned his lower lip and nostril; his wardrobe consisted of black pants and shirts, a studded belt, and occasional black eyeliner. Interesting. He was the _last_ person she'd expected to see here.

Across from Lizzie were Michael and Tony—two of Ethan's teammates from the football team—and Tony's sister Cheyenne, who was in Lizzie's English class. Also, there was a guy opposite Cheyenne who Lizzie had never seen around school before. But, before she got the chance to study him further, Tim's voice closed the prayer.

"So what are we talking about today?"

Tim's question was directed at the teenagers seated around the table. Lizzie glanced up at him, shocked. _He_ was asking _them_ what they were going to discuss? She glanced around the room, unsure.

Ethan leaned over and whispered into Lizzie's ear, "Don't look so surprised." She threw him a slight smile. He was so adorable.

Rachel was the first to speak. "Well, I've been reading this book about evolution and—"

A chorus of groans echoed through the room. "Uh. No offense, Rachel, but we spent about a month debating that in biology," someone put in.

Tim nodded sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Rachel, but I have to agree with Mike. That topic is overplayed."

Ethan spoke. "How about this: I've been thinking lately. How much does the media have an impact on our actions, our thoughts, who we are in general?"

"It doesn't." Trent's deep voice came from the corner of the small room. With the dim lighting of the room, Trent's jet spiky jet-black hair and thick eyeliner reminded Lizzie of some sort of demon. She shuddered.

"You say that, Trent," Ethan remarked forcefully, "but I could pick out ten or twenty famous people in the media who dress just like you do."

Cheyenne chimed in, "If you said you were a member of Good Charlotte or some other punk band, I would have been fooled."

Trent was obviously offended by their sudden attack on his style. He burst out, saying, "How I dress has nothing to do with the way I act."

"Yeah, but the way you dress has everything to do with how you want yourself to come across to people," came the voice of the kid Lizzie didn't know. "I mean, you either dress for yourself or you dress for others—"

"And I dress for _myself_," Trent boomed.

"Hey, wait," Ethan put in. "Let Paul finish." So the name of the kid she did not know was Paul, Lizzie established. The room grew quiet, curiously waiting for Paul to finish his thoughts.

"Nah, I'm done," Paul said. "It's my word against his on whether he dresses for himself or for anyone else. All I am trying to say is that everyone says stereotypes are stupid, and yet, more and more people are trying to be 'punk' or 'emo'—fit into a genre—it's ridiculous."

The room was silent. Then a voice came from next to Ethan's, and Lizzie was surprised to come to realize that the voice was her own. "I kind of had an experience today with dress."

All heads turned to her, and Ethan nodded, encouraging her on. "I…well, there was this _girl_ who came to the library dressed completely inappropriately—I am STILL trying to figure out what was going through her head when she got dressed this morning." Ethan chuckled. "I think she was banking off that media claim that you have to sell your body to get a guy."

Lizzie looked around the room, voice growing stronger and more confident in her assertation. "I think Paul is right," Lizzie continued. "Even if we're only dressing for ourselves, we are still trying to say something with the clothes we wear. The girl at the library today was dressing for the guy, and she should have realized sooner that exploiting herself was no way to get the guy. I wish I could have told her that if he is a guy worth having, he won't care whether she shows up in a dress or a paper sack."

"For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart. First Samuel, 16:7…" Ethan said this softly, barely audible to anyone but Lizzie.

Tim grinned at her, saying, "Excellent point, Lizzie!" But she was oblivious to what Tim had just said, caught up in reflection on the passage Ethan had just quoted.


End file.
